


Cryptic

by Apetslife



Series: Cryptic [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apetslife/pseuds/Apetslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel comes to town to get rid of Buffy's Spike problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cryptic

They didn't understand. None of them did. Oh, they prattled on  
about long life and times past and history, but none of them knew  
what it was like to live in the same head, the same body, for two  
hundred and forty-seven years. Not counting the mortal time, and for  
a lot of it he hadn't really been in charge, but he'd been THERE. It  
was a long, long time. They said he wasn't communicative? He'd said  
everything there was to say, in three different languages, at least  
fifteen times. They said he wasn't fun? Well, when you've partied  
your way across every continent on the planet, and done everything  
that could possibly be considered fun an infinite number of times, it  
just got old. Unless you had someone really creative along. Spike  
had always been good for that. Fighting was still interesting, just  
because every opponent was different, and there was always the  
lurking possibility of disaster. He suspected that was why he was so  
good at it.

He'd done everything. He'd made up with people who were angry with  
him before, for one reason or another. He'd fixed mistakes he'd  
made. He'd fucked Darla so many times it was almost habit, even  
after a long hiatus. He'd hit bottom and come back up, in the old  
familiar pattern, and every thought followed a deep, well-grooved  
path. So under it all, all the grovelling to Cordelia and Wes and  
Gunn, the existential crises that just never. fucking. ended, he was  
weary. Bored and weary.

This was new, though. Not the basic circumstance itself--retrieving  
his idiot childe from some scrape or other was so familiar it was  
almost soothing. No, when he'd gotten the call from Giles, he'd  
almost known what was coming. Spike had been out of trouble for a  
while now, as far as he knew, and he'd been past due.

"Angel?"

"Giles. What's...is it Buffy?"

"No, no, everything's...well, actually, it rather is, though she's  
fine at the moment. As well as can be expected, at any rate."

"What's going on?"

"Well, it's almost embarrassing, really. You see, Spike's developed  
this...fixation on her."

"Spike? On BUFFY?"

"Er, yes. We were all startled, as you can imagine. In any event,  
he's been stalking her, declaring his love, generally making a  
complete nuisance of himself. And right now...with Joyce..." his  
voice had trailed off. Angel had nodded, one hand pressed to his  
eyes. He'd liked Joyce a great deal, and he knew how deep the family  
bond had gone between her and her daughters. He was helpless, here,  
though...couldn't comfort Buffy, couldn't stand by her, couldn't even  
send a card that didn't make his teeth itch with the  
inappropriateness of it all. So he'd done nothing, and hated himself  
for it, and even the hatred was old and tired.

"I was wondering..." Giles had sounded almost hopeful.

"Can I help? Yes. I'll come get him. The last thing Buffy needs  
right now is anything...else..."

"Thank you, Angel." The relief was almost tangible, and Angel could  
hear the wear in the Watcher's voice. "And don't..."

"I won't let her see me. I'll be in and out tonight." Because Angel  
himself fell into the anything...else...and he knew it.

So here he was, outside the crypt that Spike still, stubbornly,  
called home. It smelled of him. Cigarettes and whiskey and Spike.  
And hints of others...there was Buffy's soft summer-scent, and the  
dark blood-smell of Drusilla *so THAT'S where she got to,* and  
another vampire, female, who had bled here. Dawn, *Dawn?* peaches  
and childish light perfume. It seemed his childe had been  
entertaining, lately.

He pushed the door open, alert as always in the presence of Spike.  
He was just too unpredictable. One minute kissing you, the next  
heaving a crowbar at your head...he grinned at the memory.

"Spike?"

"'allo, Peaches. What brings you 'round these parts?" drawled soft  
and slurred, from an armchair in the corner, and yes, there was that  
blond head, shining in the darkness.

"Slumming." He shrugged, stepped further into the crypt, and swung  
the door shut behind him. He had a feeling this wasn't going to be  
pretty.

"Right, well slum your giant arse off somewhere else, then. I hear  
there's a quite pretty piece of tail three doors down. Oh, wait,  
wouldn't be interested in that, now would you?"

There was something...off...about Spike's voice. The edge was still  
there, but the underlying ever-present humor seemed to have vanished  
completely. Something was definitely wrong here. Was  
Spike...depressed? It couldn't possibly be, and yet...even when he'd  
been shoving pokers through his sire's side, or getting slammed into  
a wall by said Sire countless times, or bitching about that chip in  
his head, there'd always been an underlying glee in his approach to  
life. It was gone now.

"Giles called. It seems you've been making quite a nuisance of  
yourself lately, m'boy."

"I'm not your bloody BOY, Angel, and that Watcher can just sod off  
and DIE, for all I care." But Spike didn't get out of the chair or  
even move. Didn't even put any heat into it. Angel moved closer,  
and could see Spike's eyes. Closed. He took a swig from the black-  
labeled bottle in his hand, and slumped even further into the chair.  
His face was turned up, more fine-drawn even than usual under the  
porcelain skin, highlighting his cheekbones and the line of his jaw.  
*So beautiful...*

"Spike...you can't stay here, not now. Come on. I'm taking you back  
to LA."

"You're takin' me exactly fuckin' NOWHERE, you trotting nancyboy."  
And if there still wasn't heat, at least his eyes were open. So very  
blue, but dark now.

Angel sighed. They could work this out later.

"Yes I am, Spike. Don't make this hard on yourself." He was  
worried, he'd admit it. He just wanted to get Spike out of here,  
now, by whatever means, before the younger vamp decided to take a  
morning walk. He wasn't far from it. Angel had seen this before, in  
others.

"Gerrof, you wanker. Go bother someone else. 'm sure the Slayer  
would be happy to see your face." Bitter twist of lips, and another  
drink from the bottle.

"I'm not here to see Buffy, Spike. She has enough to deal with right  
now. I'm here to get you, and you ARE coming, whether you want to or  
not."

"No."

"Spike..." Sigh, and one long step, and he had Spike up and out of  
the chair and yelping, dangling from the hand around his throat.

"Reflexes, m'boy. What have I told you about drinking?" Angel was  
snarling through his fangs now, right up against Spike's face, and  
was ready for anything. Punches, kicks, a lunge for his neck with  
teeth, but not the tears. Spike just hung there, looking defeated,  
and...tears. *Oh, shit.*

****************

Spike was expecting anything, really. A backhand to the face, a  
disgusted sneer, to be dragged out of the crypt. NOT to get hauled  
into the Great Poof's arms while he sat down in the chair, or to be  
rocked while he buried his face in the scent of leather and soap and  
Sire, and sobbed. Fuck, he was a disgusting demon. He didn't know  
what had been happening to him lately. First the INSANE thing with  
the Slayer. He'd never been able to decide whether he'd rather shag  
her senseless or bathe in her blood, but since he only had one option  
these days, he figured he'd rather fixated on it. He understood, but  
it still sickened him. And the abuse from her pathetic gang of  
children, and him not even able to strike back...and Drusilla, and  
Harmony, and wasn't THAT just a ball-breaking little scene? And over  
everything, through everything...the soddin' chip in his skull that  
stopped him killing and, by weakening his demon that way, reduced  
him, day by day, to as near to human as made no difference. He  
couldn't stand it anymore. He cared about things...well, he always  
had, really, bein' the utter wanker he'd been before he was  
turned...but now they were different things. HUMAN things. Like  
company. And comfort. And security and belonging. Fuck. He was  
through with this. He'd finish off his bottle of JD, have a little  
toast to his unlife, and go outside to wait for the sunrise.

Just as soon as he finished huddling into the arms of his Sire, and  
cryin' like a baby.

**********************

Spike...Spike was curling into him with his whole body, and  
shuddering with great, heaving sobs that sounded like they were  
tearing his throat. Angel could feel the demon growling low in his  
chest *something has hurt someone that is MINE* but he just held the  
body in his arms, and rocked him.

"Shhh. Hush then Will, none 'o that now...Hush. It'll be better  
soon, boyo." He heard himself slipping into the old accent, memories  
pulling at his voice until he couldn't help himself. He ran one hand  
through white, smooth hair, and marveled at the feel, and the sight  
of his long fingers in among the curls. Stroked, smoothed it back,  
and again. And started to purr, that low, rumbling comfort-sound  
that had been the only thing that would calm Dru's hysterics, or  
Darla's rages, or Spike's hyperactivity. So long ago. The sobs  
slowed, gentled, but he kept up the petting and the purring, just  
holding his Will. And it felt wonderful. Like home.

Finally there was a last little breath, like a hiccup, and Spike was  
still. And rested for just a moment, hands still tight in Angel's  
coat, face pressed hard against his chest. Then he stood up with a  
jerk, pulling Angel's fingers out of his hair, and wiped at his face  
with a hard hand, turning away.

"Feelin' better then, lad?" Angel kept his voice low and unamused,  
though he was a bit surprised to hear the accent still.

"Sod off, Angelus." Apparently, even vampires got that hoarse, tight  
after-tears voice.

"Come now, Will. Ye'll not be thinkin' I'm after leavin' you here  
now?"

"I said sod OFF. An' stop with that bloody accent, it's makin' my  
head hurt."

"I think that's more likely the whiskey." Angel surveyed the floor,  
littered with empty bottles and one half-full one. But he tried, and  
managed, to get his voice back to normal. "Spike" ...and it was  
always Spike, without the Irish... "come home with me."

"For what? So I can arse about your place instead of here, starin'  
at your broody mug at all hours? That would be a huge fuckin'  
improvement, thanks mate. It's all the SAME, Angelus, no matter  
where I go."

"No. Come home with me. Keep me company. You can work with me, if  
you want, when I'm out slaughtering demons. It's LONELY, Spike..."

"You've got your pet humans keepin' you company. Don't need me about  
to do it." But Spike's voice had gone softer, uncertain, and he'd  
turned a little from where he stood, facing the wall.

"They don't understand. They don't know what it's like to have seen  
it all, done it all. And they BOTHER me. Frankly, sometimes I just  
want to kill them, they annoy me so much."

Snort, and Spike turned a little more. "An' like I wouldn't?"

Angel grinned, sensing victory. "Well, with you, life's never  
boring."

"Too true, mate." Spike grinned back at him, facing him fully now  
from across the room.

"The SLAYER, Spike? Really."

"Like YOU'RE one to talk, y'great poof." But there was that damned  
uncertain tone again. "I actually...maybe love her, a bit."

"I know." Angel stood, and crossed to his side. "It'll pass,  
eventually. She's not for us."

"I know." Spike sighed, and leaned into him a little. Daring  
greatly, Angel wrapped one arm around his waist. Kissed him lightly  
on the temple. "It was just...a thing. Something to think about, to  
keep m'self from goin' totally 'round the bend, here." But his arm  
crept up to circle Angel's midsection, under the coat, palm flat  
against his side. Angel struggled not to start purring again.

"I think it got a little out of hand when you chained her in your  
cellar, Spike."

"Probably. Watcher told you about that, eh?"

"I got the whole story. Spike...why didn't you call me? I thought  
things were ok for you here."

"Well, last time I saw you didn't go so well, did it. An' word on  
the street was, Angelus was on his way back in. Torturing lawyers,  
or some such rot. Figured your hands were a bit full, at the least,  
an' if that raving nutter was back I wanted no part of it. He's gone  
a bit off, y'know, since the whole curse thing."

Angel knew. He remembered the things he'd done in Sunnydale and  
cringed. Some of it was standard Angelus, true, but some of the  
things he'd done had been beyond even the normal *normal!* demonic  
pale. Especially when it came to his childer...

"No, he's not back, though it was a close thing. Even had a fling  
with Darla, if you'll believe that."

"You shagged that bitch? Sounds like you should've been the one  
calling me." Spike huffed.

"Spike..." Warning growl, habit. Spike's hatred for his grandsire  
was epic, and had never been tolerated well by Angelus. Spike ducked  
his head, leaning it against Angel's shoulder, and the older vampire  
was struck by their odd position. Standing in the middle of a crypt,  
almost-embracing, and this truly bizarre conversation...

"Still...does this mean the whole curse bollocks is over? Angel's  
back, an' let everything with two legs an' a crotch beware?" Spike  
bumped his hip against Angel suggestively, and Angel grinned.

"Not...quite. The Host-"

"The WHO?"

"The Host. He's a demon seer who runs a karaoke bar in L.A., and  
he'll be delighted to meet YOU. Just watch your backside around him,  
or it'll get pinched." Angel grinned harder at Spike's little  
disgusted sound. "Anyway, he thinks my soul stuck because for one  
thing, she didn't make me happy-"

"Coulda told you THAT, mate-"

"SPIKE. For another, because I felt guilty about her existence to  
begin with, and thirdly, because I never forgot the curse, or my  
penance, or my destiny."

"Sod your bloody destiny. I just wanna know if we can shag." Spike  
was peering up at him through thick dark lashes, still spiky and damp  
from tears, and the glee was back. That little-boy, completely adult  
look that told Angel that if he didn't want to have his *suddenly  
VERY tight* pants around his ankles in about two seconds, he'd better  
step away. He stood still.

"I...Spike, JESUS." Because Spike had turned to face him, and in  
those ridiculous old boots, he could stand on tiptoe and bump his  
crotch RIGHT against Angel's. Always direct, his boy.

"Now now...no blasphemin', Peaches." He could hear the grin in that  
deep voice, even though his eyes were closed, even as shivers of  
pleasure ran from his groin to his fingertips and set him tingling.  
Clever fingers were at his belt, working the buckle without ever  
breaking contact, and pulling his shirt up and out of the way. His  
pants were at his knees and his shirt open and pushed off, with his  
jacket, before he even really registered what was happening. Clever,  
clever Spike. Who was now pressed up against him, full-body,  
mouthing his collarbone in that way he'd always adored, and pushing  
jeans-clad hips against his aching cock. He fisted fingers in that  
icy hair, drew Spike's head away from his body, and dove into the  
kiss.

They both froze. This was not normal. Angelus had kissed Spike  
four, perhaps five times over the course of their long...whatever it  
had been. It hadn't been about love then, not really, though Spike  
had worshipped him and he had pampered and indulged his Most  
Favored. The return to Sunnydale had been all rage and pain and  
vengeance. And since then...pokers, taunts and fists. This  
was...new. And unexpected. And utterly delicious. Angel couldn't  
imagine why he'd been denying himself this mouth for so long. He  
parted Spike's rigid lips with his tongue, slipped inside, and sighed  
a little with the pleasure of it.

**********************

Angel...Angelus...his Sire was kissing him! Long deep strokes, and  
little nibbles at his lips, and Spike groaned and threw himself into  
it with everything he had. Curved his hands up around that dark,  
ridiculously moussed head, felt strong arms wrapping around him and  
pulling him up into that heavy body, and this was bliss, sod the  
girliness of the position. There was a hand under his shirt, perfect  
body temperature, flat and hard against his spine, and fingers  
fluttering up and down. He suddenly felt overdressed.

Shirt off first, then frantic fingers at his jeans *bloody button  
fly, hope some enterprisin' vamp eats that lot over at Levi's*, never  
once breaking the contact of mouth on mouth. And then skin on skin,  
and a long sigh of pure pleasure when he felt his cock rubbing in the  
coarse hair at Angel's groin. All that smooth skin under his  
fingers, and hard brown nipples that peaked when he touched them,  
like he knew Angel liked it. Angel sucked in a breath, and rubbed  
against him harder, and fucked his mouth with his tongue. Oh, this  
was the bloody bollocks. This was fuckin' great! Slayer who? Angel  
grabbed him hard around the waist and lifted him, Spike's legs  
automatically wrapping around his body, crossing at the ankles.  
Might as well be consistent, since he'd been actin' the chit all  
night so far already. They stumbled over to the bed, and then Spike  
was flat on his back with two hundred-plus pounds of horny, grabby  
Sire pressed against him. He wasn't complaining a bit.

******************

Cool, pale skin against his, long legs tangled around his thighs and  
pelvis arching up and blue eyes shining into his own, and Angel knew  
he'd better concentrate on his sins and penance HARD if this was  
going to work. So much more than Darla...his boy was life and light  
and energy, and despite everything, not tainted with despair. He  
trailed his lips down that elegant throat, pressed his teeth gently  
to the clean blade of collarbone, the swell of muscle on his chest.

"Sire..." Spike was gasping now, wiggling beneath him, begging him  
with eyes and body and grasping hands for more. He ran a finger down  
one cheek, the bone beneath his hand as delicate as china and strong  
as steel. He'd always loved Spike's cheekbones. His childe flushed  
a little under the intensity of his eyes, and turned his head,  
exposing his throat. "Sire, please...." Where Angelus had made his  
mark. Angel's eyes darkened, then went gold, as he felt his other  
face slipping on like a mask. One snake-strike down, and his mouth  
was full of Spike's sweet blood, blood that tasted like magic and  
passion and eternity. And Angel wasn't bored. Not even a little.

****************

OH! There was a strong hand fisting his cock now, and he didn't know  
how much longer he was gonna last...especially not with Angel's fangs  
in his throat and his big, hard body driving him down into the  
mattress...but he wanted more. Wanted to belong  
again. "Angel...more..." And the little girly gasps weren't helpin'  
him any in the image department, but fuck it. Just fuck it. He  
wanted Angel. He canted his pelvis up, as much as he could under the  
weight, and pulled at Angel's hips a little desperately, settling him  
where he wanted him. Felt Angel's erection, drooling wet and sliding  
between his legs, up and down the crease in his ass with the movement  
of his hand and his body. FUUUCK! Why wasn't he gettin' bloody ON  
with it?

Angel pulled his teeth out of Spike's skin, lapping at the puncture  
wounds with his tongue, holding the smaller body motionless with  
hands and voice and tongue. "Be still, William. There isna a reason  
in the world to rush." And smirked down into Spike's frustrated  
eyes.

"Yer great ponce...fuck me already, Angelus!"

"As ye wish, boy. As ye wish." And there it was, pushing big and  
solid at him, and he whined a little and wrapped his legs around  
Angel again. Opening himself completely. *Take me, you  
bugger...it's on offer, an' all!* Torturously slow entry, inch by  
inch, as that great bloody rod rearranged his insides in the best  
possible way. One long last push and he was IN, and he could hear  
Angel chanting something about remembering sins, but he'd lost his  
mind and couldn't pay attention. The hard head of Angel's cock was  
knocking against his protate with every twitch he made, and he was  
twitching a lot, bucking up off the bed and pulling Angel down into  
him even further. He wanted MORE, dammit, wanted to be fucked into  
the mattress, fucked till he couldn't walk, and Angel seemed happy to  
oblige. The hard, pounding strokes were starting now, and Spike's  
back arched right off the bed, and the pleasurepainpleasure was  
making him dizzy. It had been so bleedin' long, and THIS was what he  
had been looking for, this strength and power and hard white beauty  
above him, making him scream and beg and submit. No wonder he'd gone  
moonin' after the Slayer. Considerin' Angelus' version of foreplay,  
one too many smacks from the little blond bint an' he'd been ready to  
go.

But that was too much thinking, and this was too good to miss. IN  
and slow withdraw, and IN again, and Angel was screwing him raw,  
twisting his hips and changing angles, and yeah, he was screaming  
now, and begging to be touched, and there was a hand on him, and his  
brain melted. Hot silver feeling behind his eyes and down his cock  
and pulsing warmth and he was shaking as he came, tossing his head  
back and howling, and pushing down on Angel with everything that was  
in him. He felt Angel go rigid between his legs, those huge hands  
gripping at his thigh and arm and nails drawing blood...and felt the  
pulses inside him, long and one after another after another. His  
sire collapsed down onto him, still inside him, and this time it was  
Spike who stroked soft hair that was tickling his chest.

**************

Oh, FUCK that was good. Better than anything. Better than I  
remember it, and I've got perfect recall. Demon perk. But  
this...this was just amazing, and I'm surprised I've still got my  
soul. It's in there, I can feel it. Plus, I'm not currently flaying  
Spike's skin from his bones for daring to touch me without my  
permission, which would have been a tip-off. He's stroking my hair.  
It feels wonderful.

Angel slid over to his side, taking Spike with him, curling his body  
around the slender one in his arms. Grinned into Spike's smirk, and  
kissed those perfect lips.

"So, you're coming with me, then?"

"Already did, mate." Smugly.

Angel rolled his eyes. "To L.A., brat."

"S'pose I might do, yeah. Ponce."

"Well, we've got, he checked his watch, "four hours left before  
daylight. We should go, to be on the safe side. Pack your things,  
let's go." He smacked a bare white cheek, and rolled off the bed to  
look for his clothes.

"Angel..." Spike was picking at the bedspread with nervous hands,  
and Angel stared at him, shirt in hand, as he lay sprawled and  
touseled on the bed. "How...long should I expect to stay?"

Whatever had changed in his childe was deep and serious. He'd even  
slipped back into his upper-class accent, and the doubt that he was  
welcome was loud in Angel's ears. And completely uncharacteristic,  
coming from that arrogant mouth.

"Will...I'm hopin' ye'll stay on as long as y'like. An' I'm hopin'  
ye'll like to stay a long, long time." He smiled. Saw the  
insecurity *dammit, Buffy!* fade and the grin grow, and Spike bounced  
off the bed like he'd expected him to right away.

"Right then. Clothes, fags an' duster, and I'm good." He gathered  
said items, shucked into his jeans and boots, ran a quick hand  
through his hair, and was ready. Still grinning.

"That's it?" Angel looked around the crypt, into the open hole  
leading to the tunnels.

"Nothin' more for me here, mate." Spike shut the cover to the hole  
decisively. "Are we going, or are you gonna stand about an' brood  
some more?"

Sigh. Maybe boring had its unexplored merits..."No. Come on."

And he led the way out to the car, and home.


End file.
